We reached the town at roughly midday. I was glad, too. My shirt had been drenched with sweat for the last hour or so, on account of that damned sun. Used to be we'd roll up in a nice, air-conditioned car, walk into the nice, air-conditioned Wal-Mart, and get our things without so much as a drop of sweat on our backs. Not since the end, though. Now, that 15-minute drive turns into a 3-hour walk, and damned if you ain't wanting for water when you get there.
The town itself was known as a haven for crime. Thankfully, we didn't need to go through the gates, not today. Our destination was the jumbled mess of merchants' stalls right outside the red brick wall of the town. And a mess they were. In contrast to the town wall, which seemed to be fairly well-built, these stalls were scrapped together from anything within reach, it seemed. Plywood, old two by fours, a few tires here and old bed sheets there. Anything to form some sort of enclosure and keep their goods safe from the elements and the thieves.
As we walked into the bazaar, surrounded by those ramshackle stalls and still being baked by the sun, the usual sights, sounds, and smells were all there. The occasional guard strolling amongst the merchant stalls, armed with what passes for a spear these days. The smell of hot roasted mystery meat, cooking over charcoal and served kebab-style. Merchants, locked in an eternal struggle to shout the loudest, advertising their wares to the hundreds of people jamming the aisles between the rows of stalls. And the people, oh, the people. Nice enough folk, most of 'em, just trying to get their supplies to make it through another week. Not unlike my friends and I, in that respect. But the smell. Oh lord. These types of smells used to be reserved for the laundry bins in pro football locker rooms. But since the end, and more specifically since the factories shut down, it seemed like personal hygiene was an increasingly rare treat to be found. Sure, other people may miss their cars, their gourmet meals, their cable TV. You wanna know what I miss most about the old world? Deodorant.
We walked along the dusty aisles, covered in sweat and sand and God only knows what else. I was munching on a kebab from the vendors out front. A little salty, but at least it didn't have whiskers this time. The guards, suspicious as ever, eyed us up and down like they always do, ever vigilant for thieves and pickpockets. Or maybe just looking for an easy target to shake down for a few zincs themselves. The merchants heckled us as we walked past. "You sir, you look like you need a brand new used bottle opener!" Brand new used, the guy said. Explain that one to me.
Finally, we reached the first of our three stops just as I was finishing my mystery meat delight. The stall was located all the way back in the corner of the bazaar, pushed up against the brick wall separating us from the town proper. Like most, it was built from a conglomeration of scrap. The faint smell of bleach permeated the air around this corner of the market, and that's why we were here. The man behind the counter didn't look much better put together than his stand. He was tall, lanky, and dirty looking, but still had a friendly expression when we strolled up. He greeted us with a wave of his hand and a broad smile. Oh boy. This guy was gonna be a treat.
The town itself was known as a haven for crime. Thankfully, we didn't need to go through the gates, not today. Our destination was the jumbled mess of merchants' stalls right outside the red brick wall of the town. And a mess they were. In contrast to the town wall, which seemed to be fairly well-built, these stalls were scrapped together from anything within reach, it seemed. Plywood, old two by fours, a few tires here and old bed sheets there. Anything to form some sort of enclosure and keep their goods safe from the elements and the thieves.
As we walked into the bazaar, surrounded by those ramshackle stalls and still being baked by the sun, the usual sights, sounds, and smells were all there. The occasional guard strolling amongst the merchant stalls, armed with what passes for a spear these days. The smell of hot roasted mystery meat, cooking over charcoal and served kebab-style. Merchants, locked in an eternal struggle to shout the loudest, advertising their wares to the hundreds of people jamming the aisles between the rows of stalls. And the people, oh, the people. Nice enough folk, most of 'em, just trying to get their supplies to make it through another week. Not unlike my friends and I, in that respect. But the smell. Oh lord. These types of smells used to be reserved for the laundry bins in pro football locker rooms. But since the end, and more specifically since the factories shut down, it seemed like personal hygiene was an increasingly rare treat to be found. Sure, other people may miss their cars, their gourmet meals, their cable TV. You wanna know what I miss most about the old world? Deodorant.
We walked along the dusty aisles, covered in sweat and sand and God only knows what else. I was munching on a kebab from the vendors out front. A little salty, but at least it didn't have whiskers this time. The guards, suspicious as ever, eyed us up and down like they always do, ever vigilant for thieves and pickpockets. Or maybe just looking for an easy target to shake down for a few zincs themselves. The merchants heckled us as we walked past. "You sir, you look like you need a brand new used bottle opener!" Brand new used, the guy said. Explain that one to me.
Finally, we reached the first of our three stops just as I was finishing my mystery meat delight. The stall was located all the way back in the corner of the bazaar, pushed up against the brick wall separating us from the town proper. Like most, it was built from a conglomeration of scrap. The faint smell of bleach permeated the air around this corner of the market, and that's why we were here. The man behind the counter didn't look much better put together than his stand. He was tall, lanky, and dirty looking, but still had a friendly expression when we strolled up. He greeted us with a wave of his hand and a broad smile. Oh boy. This guy was gonna be a treat.